An elite, young knight was unsettled seeing
the most curious thing: a mounted fighter
addressed his lance and shield, unhorsed
ten stout knights in joust after joust,
and dropped his arms, bowing in abject defeat.
He let the beaten knights pull him to the ground.
They bound his wrists and tied him under his horse,
leading him in foul disgrace through the town.
The young knight witnessed this in disbelief.
It made no sense. How could a man so stalwart
give in to such debasement and abuse?
He discovered the man had lost himself for love.
The man, Pelleas, had closed his heart like a fist
around dreams of his lady, Arcade. He couldn’t let go.
She was a doña of the castle, fair and proud,
who stalked the parapets, a fly-away blonde
with red ribbon scarves, looking down.
Hard for anyone to miss, except Pelleas.
The whole point of his repeated humiliation
was to see her. The knights he vanquished
would lead him to the castle courtyard roped to his horse,
where Arcade would stoop and glare from the walls
and order a fresh outrage for next week:
Tie him to the tail and drag his face in the dirt.
Pelleas was then booted out the gate.
The doña wanted the loser gone forever.
Or so she said. But discerning folks believed
Arcade’s infatuation with power over Pelleas
was parallel to his obsession for her.
Together, they tied an unholy knot.
The fine, young knight was taken with pity
over this endless degradation and offered
to help the man he saw that Pelleas was.
He said he would trade horses and armor
with the older man and ride to Arcade’s castle
to present himself as one who killed Pelleas.
The thinking was that her relief at feeling
her tormenter gone and the follow-up jolt
of losing the heart that most yearned for her
would stir up an alchemy of love in her heart
for Pelleas, the man she had grown to abhor.
Magic in the logic? Yes. But it was a start.
The young knight had pledged his loyalty to Pelleas,
but when he saw Arcade, something broke.
The doña filled his eyes in a golden moment,
his constitution morphing to something else.
Everything was new. He could have anything.
And the lady rather fancied her new tool.
While Pelleas awaited word from his faithful friend
of the lady’s change of heart, the young knight
followed the lady to a pavilion outside the castle,
where a bed was appointed just for them.
They stayed for days weaving a tapestry of desire.
Meanwhile, Pelleas had an inkling something wasn’t right.
On the third day, before dawn,
he rode to the castle and saw the grand pavilion.
He entered and watched the lovers twining together
in sleep. They should be dead, he thought,
but murdering them, defenseless like that, was wrong.
He left and went back twice to kill them but couldn’t.
The second time, he laid his naked sword
across their throats. He rushed out and rode away.
With no will to live, Pelleas went off
to his pavilion and told his knights the story.
He said he would shed his armor and arms
and go to bed, where he belonged, until death.
When Arcade and the young knight awoke
with a steel blade across their necks, they knew
whose sword it was. The knight was seized with shame
and the doña with fury at the knight’s double betrayal.
He’d broken faith with Pelleas and lied to her
about killing him. The knight slunk away to the forest.
Around Pelleas, his men openly grieved
their master’s plight. One of them, crying in a bosk,
was approached by the lady of the lake, Nimue,
who was passing there. She asked the reason.
On hearing about the master’s agony, she said,
Bring me to him. He shall not die for love.
The knight led Nimue to the tent and the dying bed,
where the pallid man lay still, not waking or sleeping,
in a darkness where everything but life is gone.
She saw a man who would do anything for love
whose love was a disconnection, a bleeding vessel.
An enchantress, Nimue stepped into the breach.
She cast a spell on Pelleas to sleep and ordered
no one to wake him. She rode to Arcade’s castle
and brought the doña back to the dying man.
The lady’s power overtook Arcade,
who bent down to Pelleas and thought she’d burst
with yearning for him, an astonishing change of heart.
It was a turn of poetic justice; Arcade
had so casually held herself above
the man and shown no mercy for his weakness.
He was valiantly weak, giving her more
reason for mercy. Nimue was hard on her
for that, fanning a counter spell on Pelleas.
When he awoke, he saw only the grotesque
that Arcade was, her fly-away coiffure
and frivolous fashion, accented by the red tails
of a scarf, affectations of status and honor.
For Pelleas, her confections no longer hid
the bitterness of her heart. Arcade fled in defeat.
The field was clear. Nimue called Pelleas
to ride with her out of that country. As they went,
Pelleas marveled at his change of heart and soul.
Things were so bleak and now so verdant.
He thanked God for it all. The lady was cool
in her compassion. You may thank me, she said.
Copyright © 2025 by Sam S. Dodd